Faux Paw

17

Marcus liked to tease that I thought pretty much any problem could be solved with a plate of brownies. That wasn’t true. I thought a blueberry muffin or a nice coffee cake would also work.

“This problem calls for a coffee cake,” I told Owen. He licked his whiskers.

I reached for my phone and called Maggie. “I didn’t take you away from some romantic moment, did I?” I asked.

She gave a snort of laughter. “Not unless you think snaking the toilets at the shop is romantic. What’s up?”

“It doesn’t look like the library is going to open for a few more days. I was thinking of making a coffee cake tomorrow and wondered if you were up for a coffee break Monday morning. You’re going to be in your studio, aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “I’d love some of your coffee cake.”

“Are Ruby and Rena going to be around?” I asked. “Maybe they could join us.”

“What are you up to?” Maggie said.

“I’m not up to anything.” I was glad that she couldn’t see my face.

Somehow Owen knew it was Maggie on the other end of the phone. He was trying to push his face in against it. “Owen’s trying to say hello,” I said.

“Hey fur ball,” she said.

He heard her. He leaned his head against my hand and started to purr.

“He’s purring,” I said.

“And you’re not being straight with me, Kath.”

I exhaled softly. “I just want to talk to Rena and I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“Does this have to do with what happened at the library?” Maggie lowered her voice. That told me that someone probably was with her, most likely Brady Chapman.

I hesitated. I didn’t want Maggie mixed up in the middle of this.

“I won’t help you if you don’t tell me what you’re up to,” she said. I was surprised by the determination in her voice. “We could have lost you in that fire before Christmas.” She stopped and I heard her swallow.

Maggie, Owen and I had been caught in a burning building back in December in a fire started by the person who had killed Brady Chapman’s mother. Maggie had managed to get out, but Owen and I had been trapped for a while. Maggie still blamed herself for not being able to get us out.

“Mags, I’m fine. I’m not going to do anything dangerous or stupid.” I knew I had to tell her more. “I want to talk to Rena because I think maybe . . . maybe she hasn’t been completely honest about her background. Remember that art dealer Gavin and I went to Minneapolis to talk to?”

“Yes,” she said slowly.

“Not all of his business is legitimate, and I think Rena may know him.”

“Does Marcus know what you’re doing?” she asked.

For a moment I thought about lying. “No,” I said.

“Are you going to tell him?”

“If there’s anything to tell, I will.” I shifted Owen sideways a little so I could reach my cup. That meant he couldn’t keep his head next to the phone. He made a face at me.

“All right,” Maggie said. “It had better be a really good coffee cake.”

“Rhubarb streusel.”

“Give the furry one a kiss from me,” she said.

“Thanks, Mags,” I said.

I put the phone on the table. Then I picked up Owen and kissed the top of his head. “From Maggie,” I said. I knew he understood what I’d said because he started purring again.

• • •

I got to Riverarts at about five minutes to ten on Monday morning. I carried the coffee cake up to Maggie’s top-floor studio. She was standing in front of a large piece of particleboard propped on her easel. I tapped on the open door. “Good morning,” I said.

She turned around. “Hi, Kathleen,” she said. “Is it ten already?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh.”

She rolled her eyes. “That means I’ve been standing here staring at this for the last twenty minutes and I’m still no closer to figuring out what color I want to use on the background.”

“What are you working on?” I asked.

The piece of wood was at least two feet wide by three feet high.

“It’s a collage for Riverwatch, all things I found washed up on shore. They’re starting a public information campaign to make people aware of what’s ending up in the water.” She moved over to her sink and reached for the kettle. “And you wouldn’t believe what ends up in the water.”

“I hope it helps,” I said.

“Me too,” she said. “Sometimes it’s easier if people see what goes into the river instead of just hearing about it.”

She filled the kettle and plugged it in. I set my cake keeper on the counter. I knew Maggie had plates and forks, but I’d brought napkins.

She picked one up. “I like these,” she said with a grin. The design was cartoon cats on a dark blue background. “That one looks like Owen,” she said, pointing to a cat in the upper left corner. “Where did you get these?”

“My mother found them somewhere,” I said. “She thought that cat looked like Owen and the one just to the right of the middle could be Hercules.”

Maggie squinted at the paper square. “She’s right,” she said. “I forgot to tell you, she e-mailed me on Friday.”

I took off my heavy sweater and draped it over one of the stools at the work island in the middle of the room.

“My mother e-mailed you?”

Maggie nodded. “You know that she’s taking one of her classes to New York for a theater weekend.”

I nodded.

“She said she’s going to join the crowd outside the Today show and see if she can get Matt Lauer’s autograph for me.” Maggie’s blue eyes were sparkling.

“If anyone can do it, my mother can,” I said.

Ruby poked her head around the doorway then. “Are we having cake?” she asked. Her hair was mint green with a black streak at the front.

“Rhubarb streusel coffee cake,” I said, grinning at her.

“Is Rena around?” Maggie asked.

“She’s downstairs,” Ruby said. “I saw her about fifteen minutes ago. You want me to ask her to join us?”

Maggie nodded. “I’ve been wanting to ask her about maybe doing a workshop when we get the new space finished at the shop.”

“Be right back,” Ruby said.

Maggie gave me a look and then went to get plates and forks from her storage cabinet. “Tea or hot chocolate?” she asked.

“Hot chocolate, please,” I said. Despite Maggie’s efforts, I wasn’t a big fan of herbal tea, but I liked cocoa almost as much as coffee.

Rena Adler paused in the doorway of the studio when Ruby returned with her. “Are you sure I’m not intruding on anything?” she asked. She was wearing gray yoga pants with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail.

“You’re not intruding on anything,” Maggie said. “Kathleen brought coffee cake.”

I turned from where I was slicing the cake and smiled. “Hi, Rena,” I said.

“Hi, Kathleen,” she said.

“Tea or cocoa?” Maggie asked.

“Cocoa, if it’s not too much trouble,” Rena said.

Ruby was already perched on a stool at the center workspace. “Hey, Kathleen, when is the library going to reopen?” she asked.

“It looks like the end of the week,” I said, handing her a piece of cake.

Rena took the seat beside her and I gave her the other plate I was holding.

“Does Marcus have any leads?” Maggie asked as she brought mugs to the table. She gave Rena a sideways glance. “Kathleen’s boyfriend is a detective.”

I turned to pick up the other two plates. “Nothing he’s telling me about,” I said.

“What happens to the rest of the artwork?” Rena asked. She ate a forkful of cake and then smiled. “Oh, Kathleen, this is good!”

“Thank you,” I said. I reached for the container of marshmallows Maggie had set in the middle of the table and dropped two into my cup. “The artwork is all going back to the museum. The rest of the stops for the exhibit have been called off.”

“That bites,” Ruby said around a mouthful of cake.

“It does,” I agreed. “And I’m sorry you all lost your chance to have your work be part of the exhibit here at the library.”

Maggie smiled over the top of her tea. “It just wasn’t meant to be. Something else will come along.”

“Hey, Kathleen, any chance we could put together an exhibit of local art at the library, maybe this summer?” Ruby asked. “I know it wouldn’t pull in as many people as the museum artwork would have, but there are a lot of tourists in town then.”

“I’ll have to run it by the board, but I like the idea,” I said. “Would you be willing to put together something in writing that I can take to them?”

Ruby shrugged. “Sure.” She looked at Maggie. “That okay?”

“Yes,” Maggie said. “And maybe we could coordinate some workshops at the store. Oren should have everything finished by summer.” She turned to Rena and smiled. “Would you think about coming and doing a workshop in egg tempera?”

Rena nodded. “If I’m in town, absolutely.”

“How did you start working in egg tempera, anyway?” Ruby asked, shifting sideways on her stool to look at Rena.

“I liked the effect,” Rena said, brushing a loose tendril of hair back off her cheek. “I started playing around, but believe it or not, it was actually a weekend workshop that got me hooked.”

“How did you end up in Red Wing?” I asked.

She smiled across the table. “Would you believe I saw a short video about Red Wing online and fell in love with the town?”

Maggie’s mouth was full but she began to nod.

“The man with the springer spaniel?” I said.

Rena nodded.

“That’s Morgan,” Maggie said. “The dog, I mean. Tim, his owner, is a documentary filmmaker. He grew up in Red Wing.”

“Where did you live before Red Wing?” Ruby asked as she speared another piece of cake. I wanted to hug her. She was asking most of the questions I’d been going to ask.

“Pretty much everywhere. My dad designs recycling plants. We’d spend a year or two somewhere and then move on. Living in Red Wing may be the longest I’ve ever stayed in one place.” She looked at the three of us. “What about you? Did you all grow up here?”

“Ruby and I did,” Maggie said. She slid off her stool and headed for the kettle. “Kathleen came here from Boston to supervise renovations at the library.”

“And you fell in love with Mayville Heights,” Rena said.

Ruby looked up from her plate. “More like with a certain police detective.”

I felt my cheeks getting red. “That’s not the only reason I decided to stay,” I said. “I really do like living here. And there’s Owen and Hercules.”

Rena looked confused. “Owen and Hercules?”

“My cats,” I said. “They kind of think they’re people. I don’t think they’d do well in the city.” I looked over at Maggie, who had just put more water in the kettle and plugged it in again. “They’re a bit spoiled.”

“Owen and Hercules are not like other cats,” Maggie said. “They’re very intelligent.”

That was an understatement, I thought.

“Wait a minute,” Rena said, gesturing at Ruby with her fork. “I saw those paintings you did. Were those Kathleen’s cats?”

Ruby grunted a yes because her mouth was full of cake. She swallowed and began to tell Rena about the boys posing for her.

Rena Adler was very good at deflecting any conversation away from herself, I realized. I was even more convinced that she was hiding something. But was I right that she was really Devin Rossi? And even more important, had she killed Margo?

As I listened to her and Ruby talk, with occasional comments added by Maggie, I found myself hoping I was wrong. Rena was funny, kind in her comments about other artists’ work without being fake or cloying. I could see both Maggie and Ruby liked her.

After about another ten minutes or so, Ruby got to her feet and stretched. “I need to get back to work,” she said. She smiled across the table. “Thanks for the cake, Kathleen. And the tea, Maggie.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“I’ll put something together on that art exhibit idea and e-mail it to you if that’s okay?” she said.

I nodded. “That’s good.”

Ruby looked at Maggie. “You’ll be down at the shop this afternoon?”

“I’m meeting Oren there at one o’clock,” she said.

Rena slid off her stool. “I should get back to work as well.” She looked from me to Maggie. “This was fun. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you joined us,” Maggie said. She tipped her head in my direction. “Kathleen makes great brownies, too.”

“Was that a hint?” I teased.

She nodded. “It was.”

Rena smiled at us. “See you later,” she said.

I watched her head down the hall, waving at Ruby as she passed her studio door. I closed Maggie’s door and turned around to discover she’d taken all the cups and plates over to the sink. So much for my plan. I closed my eyes and blew out a breath.

“It’s in a bag on the counter,” Maggie said.

I opened my eyes. “What’s on the counter?”

She turned from the sink. “Rena’s cup. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Something with her fingerprints?” She gestured at the brown paper bag sitting next to the kettle.

“How did you know?” I asked walking over to her.

She turned off the tap. “Did you notice how Rena deflected any questions about herself? When Ruby asked where she’d lived before she moved to Red Wing she didn’t name a place. She said ‘everywhere.’”

I leaned against the wooden cabinet. “I noticed.”

“That’s not the first time she’s done that,” Maggie said, reaching for the small towel she kept on a hook next to the sink. “She did the same thing with Susan one of the times we were at the library.” She dried her hands. “I think she’s hiding something.”

I nodded. “I think you’re right.”

Maggie raked a hand through her blonde curls. “She didn’t kill Margo Walsh.”

“I like her too, Mags,” I said, gently.

“I’m not saying that just because I like her. She doesn’t give off that kind of energy.” She shook her head. “I’m not saying she’s not keeping secrets, because it’s pretty obvious she is. I just don’t think killing Margo is one of them.”

I looked over at the paper bag. “I hope you’re right.”

I left Riverarts and walked over to Eric’s. I’d left the truck in the library parking lot. It was too early for lunch, but a large cup of coffee sounded pretty good.

Nic Sutton was working. “Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “What can I get you?”

“Two large coffees to go,” I said.

“I just put a new pot on,” he said. “If you can wait for a couple of minutes you can have a fresh cup.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “Thanks.”

I dropped onto one of the padded stools at the counter and pulled out my phone, hoping I’d get Marcus and not his voice mail. I couldn’t help smiling when I heard his voice.

“Do you have time for a break?” I asked.

“I’d love one,” he said. I imagined him leaning back at his desk and stretching his arms over his head. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Eric’s,” I said.

“I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

I was just snapping lids on the paper take-out cups when Marcus walked in to the café. I walked over to meet him. “How about a walk along the trail?” I asked.

“Fine with me,” he said.

I handed him his coffee and we left the restaurant, crossing the street to walk along the path that curved along the water’s edge.

“How was your morning?” I asked.

“Too much paperwork,” he said. He took a sip of his coffee and made a little murmur of happiness. “Why is Eric’s coffee so much better than the coffee at the station?”

“Because they don’t buy the coffee beans at the Dollar Store. Because no one pounds on the top of the coffeemaker when they think it’s not making coffee fast enough. Because they actually wash the carafe once in a while.” I ticked off the reasons on my fingers.

He shot me a sidelong glance. “That was a rhetorical question,” he said, taking another sip.

“Marcus, did you or Hope talk to an artist named Rena Adler?” I asked.

He frowned at the change of subject and stared off into the distance for a moment. “She’s one of the local artists, isn’t she? Hope talked to her.” He stopped walking. “Why?”

I took a drink to buy a moment. “Because I don’t think Rena Adler is her real name.” I held up one hand. “Hear me out before you say anything.”

He caught the hand in his own and gave it a squeeze. “I will,” he said. Then he smiled. “I will,” he repeated.

I took a deep breath. “Do you remember Gavin telling us about Devin Rossi, the art thief?”

Marcus nodded. “Yes.” He gave my hand another squeeze before he let go of it. We started walking again.

“Devin Rossi seemed to disappear two years ago. At the same time Rena Adler seemed to appear out of nowhere.” I took a sip from my cup. “I called Julian McCrea. He met Devin Rossi once at a museum gala. Except for the hair color, his description of her could have been a description of Rena. And . . .” I paused.

“And what?” Marcus asked. He gave the take-out cup a shake and took another drink.

“And she’s evasive about her past. She manages to deflect any questions anyone asks about where she lived or what she used to do.” I waited for Marcus to tell me this was a police investigation and I should stay out of it.

“I know,” is what he did say.

“What do you mean, you know?” I said.

“She was evasive with Hope as well, and Hope couldn’t find any more about the woman than you did.”

I brushed my hair back off my face. “Do you remember telling me that there was a partial fingerprint from an art heist that was probably Devin Rossi’s?”

His blue eyes narrowed. “I remember,” he said, slowly.

I held up the paper bag. “Rena Adler’s fingerprints are on the mug in this bag.”

“I can’t use that in court.”

We’d stopped walking again.

“I know,” I said. “But Rena or Devin or whoever she is doesn’t know that.”

Marcus shifted from one foot to the other. “If—if for the sake of argument Rena Adler is Devin Rossi, she probably does know that.”

I exhaled loudly. “Okay, but if the fingerprints tell you that Rena isn’t, well, Rena, you can at least talk to her again. You don’t have to tell her how you know.”

He may have been frustrated, but I could see a gleam of interest in his blue eyes.

I laid a hand on his arm. “Marcus, Rena Adler is Devin Rossi. I’m certain of it.”

“Because she doesn’t like talking about her past? Or because she looks like the woman Julian McCrea described to you?”

“Because of her name.”

He looked surprised and his eyes shifted uncertainly from side to side. Obviously that hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. “I don’t understand.”

“The name Rena. It can be a variation of Irene.”

“Irene Adler.” I watched as the name registered with him. “The woman,” he said slowly. “Sherlock Holmes.”

I nodded.

“It could just be a coincidence.”

“But it’s not,” I said. “We have a reciprocal agreement with the library in Red Wing. People with library cards from their library can use them in ours and vice versa. Rena borrowed a couple of books from this library: A Coffin for Dimitrios and The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Eric Ambler and Agatha Christie. Mystery classics.” I exhaled slowly. “Marcus, I’m not wrong about this.”

He looked out across the water for a long moment, as if somehow the answers might be bobbing on the water. Then he turned back to me. “All right,” he said, holding out his hand.

I gave him the bag.

“You know it’s a long shot,” he warned.

“Not to me,” I said. I smiled up at him. “Anyway, we were a long shot.”

“Point taken,” he said, and the look he gave me made my insides feel as wobbly as a bowl of Jell-O salad at a Fourth of July picnic.

We turned around then and walked back to Eric’s.

“Where’s the truck?” Marcus asked, looking around.

“I left it at the library. It was such a nice day I decided to walk over to Riverarts.”

“I can drop you,” he said.

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll walk.”

He reached for my free hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said.

My coffee wasn’t that hot anymore, but I finished it as I walked to the library. I wasn’t going to waste a perfectly good cup just because of the temperature. Marshall Holmes was coming toward me on the sidewalk as I came level with the building. He raised a hand in greeting.

“Good morning,” I said as he got closer.

“Good morning, Kathleen,” he said. He glanced at the building. “Are you reopening?”

I shook my head. “Not for a few more days.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I have my e-reader, then.” He smiled. “I admit I like a paper book better, though.”

I smiled back at him. “If people didn’t like paper books I’d be out of a job.”

Marshall looked over at the building again. “I’m sorry if I’m being intrusive, but are there any leads in Margo Walsh’s death?”

“I’m not really sure,” I said. “The police are still investigating.”

“I didn’t know Margo very well,” he said. “But I hope they find whoever killed her.”

“So do I,” I said. “And I hope you get your drawing back as well.”

“It’s not what’s important,” Marshall said. “But thank you.” He glanced at his watch. “It was good to see you, Kathleen. I’m going to be in town for a few more days. I’ll be in for some ‘real’ books.”

“I’ll see you then,” I said.

Marcus arrived just before suppertime.

“So?” I said, turning from the stove to look at him.

“So you were right.”

“I knew it,” I said. Hercules and Owen were sitting at my feet and I would have high-fived them both if they’d known how. And if they’d had hands. “Are you going to ask her to come in to answer more questions?”

“I’m not sure that’s the best way to go about things,” he said, peeling off his jacket. He paused for a moment. “What happened to the local pieces that were part of the exhibit? Are they still at the library?”

Owen looked at me, yawned and headed for the basement door. Bored with the conversation or heading for his lair in the cellar, I wasn’t sure.

“They are,” I said. “Gavin and I were going to see if we could return them to the artists sometime in the next few days.” Hercules leaned against my leg.

“Could you return Rena Adler’s artwork, say, tomorrow? And without Solomon?”

“I don’t see why not,” I said. “What are you thinking? You don’t want to question Rena at the police station?”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “I don’t want to question her in any kind of official way at all. If I do that, she’s likely to request a lawyer.”

“You’re having second thoughts.”

“I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize the investigation. Like I told you, I can’t use those fingerprints as evidence.”

“But if you have a conversation with her at the library, anything you learn is evidence,” I said.

“It’s a fine line, but yes,” he said.

“Okay. How about this? Gavin has a meeting in Minneapolis with the insurance company. He won’t be back until after lunch. I’ll call Rena and see if I can set something up for midmorning. Then when Gavin gets back he and I can return everyone else’s pieces.”

“Sounds good,” Marcus said.

I called Rena after supper. Marcus had gone back to work. She was happy to hear she could get her paintings back. I felt a twinge of guilt as I set a time for her to meet me at the library the next morning. Owen cocked his head to one side and eyed me as I hung up the phone.

“I hate this part,” I said to him with a sigh. “I like Rena.”

“Merow,” he said.

There really wasn’t anything else to say.